The Beloved, page 26
“I am one of the best.” Amore cocked a brow. “So what are we doing for you? What do you want.”
Nalla inspected a framed picture of what clearly was the old-fashioned model Naomi Campbell standing with a very young Amore. “I’m not really sure. I just know that I’ve wanted a tattoo for years, but didn’t know where to get it done or what it might look like. I love… Nate’s, by the way.”
“Oh, that little thing.” Amore gave a pshaw. Then got really serious. “We worked forever on that. I’m proud of what we did.”
“It’s a masterpiece.”
“It took him forever to get the design right—the artwork was all his idea. We did so many planning sessions, I didn’t know when I was finally going to be able to ink him.”
Nalla frowned. “He did the image?”
“All his idea.” Amore shook their head. “He told me he’d seen something like it on someone he knew, and then he noodled with the skull as the core until it was right. The snakes and the vines and the clouds were all him. After he got the chest piece done, he had a buddy come in for something not dissimilar. Now, that was a male specimen, right there. Too bad he was straight.”
L.W.? she thought. Had to be.
“Nate won’t let me put him in any publications,” they said. “I mean, you’ve clearly seen his, shall we say, hidden talents. He should model—what’s wrong?”
Nalla shook herself back to attention. “Oh, it’s just… Nate told me that his tattoo was—well, never mind.” She smiled. Or tried to. “And yes, he is… um… attractive.”
“Look at you, blushing.” Amore came over and took Nalla’s arm. “Come here, let me show you some things.”
Nalla let herself be led through a door and out into the reception area—and talk about your library of images.
“Holy… crap.”
“I have to give my clients ideas, right?”
The entire front part of the shop was a waiting area that was wallpapered with sketches and stacked with books of tattoos, everything organized by type, from flowers, and fish, and birds, to the hard-core horror stuff, to the old school, Gothic-lettered designs. There was also a lineup of chairs, a desk with a computer, and a coffee bar. And of course, everything was pink, black, and gold.
“I am totally… overwhelmed,” Nalla said.
“Take your time and look around. I’ll be right back.”
Nalla moved slowly down the wall, her eyes bouncing from abstract swirls and a whole panel of roses… to tribal designs and famous quotes in various fonts.
As the door behind her opened again, she wished Nate were here, and was worried he wasn’t going to show up after all.
“I just don’t know.” She exhaled. “There’s so much to consider… and it’s permanent.”
For vampires, if the ink was going to stick, there had to be salt in it—so no lasering the design off if you thought better of it.
Then again, if Nate didn’t come, she didn’t have to worry about the permanent thing, did she—
“Take your time—”
Nalla spun around with a smile. “You’re here.”
Nate was standing where Amore had been, and, dear God, he was good to see. For some stupid reason—considering she had been thinking about him all day long—she felt the need to re-catalog everything about him. Yes, he was still a fighter first and foremost, and dressed in black leather, with what was clearly another jacket. And yes, he was still powerful, all coiled aggression and reserved confidence. And yes, his eyes were still hooded and intense as he looked down at her.
But somehow, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time all over again.
Although on that note, she closed her eyes briefly, and pictured him as he’d been on that bed, no shirt, his leathers open—
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Pulling herself together, she stared into those blue eyes of his and nodded. “I am now.”
The smile that tilted his mouth up on one side was like a secret shared between them, something only for her, only given to… her. And she wasn’t sure who took the first step forward. Maybe it was him. Maybe her.
Did it matter?
Nope, sure didn’t.
They met halfway, in the middle of the waiting room, and for Nalla, putting her arms around his waist and pulling herself against his hard body was as natural as breathing—and so was tilting her head back and offering her mouth.
Nate didn’t wait even a heartbeat to bend down and kiss her deep. And as she smelled those dark spices, she had a crazy thought. An absolutely insane one.
Had he bonded with her? Was that even possible?
Considering that promise he’d made to her father… it could explain why he kept breaking his word.
When they finally came up for air, she was ready to fuck off the tattoo stuff and go back to Luchas House. Or get a hotel. Or hey, there were chairs over there—the desk, maybe? She was willing to bet Amore would give them a little privacy.
“I’m sorry I was late.” Nate reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and held up a small container. “I had to get your ink.”
“You’re here now.” She put her hand up to his face. “You’re forgiven for everything.”
A darkness filtered through his face, but he covered it up quick. “So I guess you met Amore—”
“She’s in love with me, honey.” The artist sailed into the waiting area like they were riding a magic carpet, all smooth stride and fabulousness. “You’re just coming up short. But really, can you blame her?”
Nate tucked Nalla against his side. “Nope, not at all.”
“Ahh, see, that’s why you’re my favorite client. You’re not just decorative, you have half a brain.”
“Are you ready for this?” Nate asked her.
Nalla smiled. “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I gotta give that a hell yeah. Let’s get some ink done on me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
You did great, honey.”
About two hours later, Nate was hovering over Amore’s table and watching as the human made a last pass over Nalla’s shoulder blade with a rinse and a wipe-down.
His favorite female vampire turned her head and angled a stare at him. “How’s it look?”
The depiction was of an apple tree in full bloom, the branches extending out from the core in a graceful arch, each flower perfectly drawn, as if it were ink on paper, not ink on skin put there by a needle.
He knew exactly what had inspired the design.
It was the mosaic floor from the Brotherhood mansion’s grand foyer. He’d visited a couple of times with his parents, back when the First Family had lived there. He’d never felt particularly comfortable in the palace, but he knew it had been Nalla’s home for a time.
“Beautiful,” he said as he rubbed his thumb on the pad of her hand. “You miss that house, don’t you.”
A flicker of sadness darkened her yellow eyes. “Things seemed… easier there. Then again, maybe that was only because I was little.”
God, he hated the fact that he was coming between her and her father. And he could not blame the Brother.
“It’s with you forever, now.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “It’s a tangible memory.”
“That’s why I picked it.”
Nate thought of his own ink. He’d done the same, but what was in his skin was his nightmare. Stupid, really. To think putting some ink on him would draw the torture out of his soul somehow. But at least the discomfort of the needle had distracted him from the real pain, at least for the hours he’d been on the table.
“I’m glad…”
As his voice drifted, she prompted, “About?”
For a moment, he was sucked into his own past, once again back in that bright white and stainless steel lab, trapped inside a cage with wire walls, staring out as his mahmen, withered and exhausted and bruised, was laid out on the exam table and strapped down even though she had been all but dead from the experiments. He had been crying, but he had not begged. The humans in the lab coats never responded to words, like he was just an animal yelping.
He hadn’t known what they injected into her. Just like he’d never known what they put in him. Viruses, diseases, poisons… a flood pushing into him and taking over his body, the symptoms that bloomed a toxic garden cultivated by his captors.
Nate cleared his throat as the old, familiar agony of recollection ached in his very bones, sure as if his consciousness had been in a devastating car accident, and though he could still walk, his mental limbs were permanently fractured.
“I’m glad that what you’ve chosen is a happy memory,” he said roughly. “That you have some from when you were young. And the tattoo is seriously well done.”
“Of course it is,” Amore cut in as they gave the floor a push with their heels and rolled over to a bank of cabinets on their stool. “And if you ever want anything else done, I’m yours anytime. You don’t have to bring tall, dark, and broody with you. Although I always enjoy the view.”
Nalla laughed and then those sunshine-yellow eyes grew hooded. “You know what? I like looking at him, too.”
“I knew we had similar taste, soon as you started glossing me.” Amore rolled back over with a stretch of Saran Wrap and some surgical tape. “And you got my number, girl. You call Amore when you need your ink.”
Nate glanced down at the other planning sketch the two had worked out together, using pictures from Nalla’s phone. It was the grand facade of the Black Dagger Brotherhood mansion, with the fountain centered just in front of the ornate entry and those massive doors. Even though the artwork was just a conceptual, it had everything, the little circles at the roofline representing the gargoyles, the windows all aligned, the three-story wings extending off to the sides.
“You also grew up in that house, Nate?” Amore asked as they laid the clear sheet over their work. “Pretty fucking fancy.”
“No, I was just a visitor.”
“And my family doesn’t live there anymore.” Nalla’s eyes also went to the drawing. “I haven’t been back to that house for years. Too busy with work… and stuff.”
“Adulting sucks,” Amore announced.
“It sure does.” She pinned a smile on her face and picked up the hand mirror again, angling it to see what had been done through the protective barrier as Amore taped things in place. “Boy, that is perfect. And I’m glad it’s on my back. I couldn’t look at it all the time. Too sad.”
“Honey, we’ve all got those parts to us.” Amore patted her arm gently. “And we gotta do what we can to keep ’em. I’ll meet you in front and we can settle up, ’kay?”
“Thanks, Amore.”
“You got it.”
The tattooist gave Nate a nod, and then extended up to their full height on those tall heels. After they left, Nate handed over Nalla’s black bra and turtleneck.
“I’ll go talk with Amore, and let you get dressed,” he said.
It was supposed to be a statement. Like, of course he was going to give her some privacy while she put the top half of her clothes on again. In a semi-private setting. When she had to be sore, not just on her back, but in the muscles she’d tensed up while that high-pitched, vibrating Sharpie had been going in and out of her skin at a hundred miles a second.
Instead… there was a question weaving in and out of his words.
And what do you know, Nalla’s eyes lifted to his own—and yup, there it was. Fire. Pure elemental fire, the kind of thing that made the world disappear as his attention locked on her and her alone. Plus he had the sense that it was the same for her: Sexual need was in the way her lips parted, as if she were remembering what it was like to kiss him, and how she shifted her lower body on the padded worktable… as if she were reliving what it was like for him to be between her thighs.
“You don’t have to go,” she said in a low voice.
“And I didn’t want to.”
With a sinuous movement, she slipped her legs off the edge and sat up, one arm covering her breasts. She’d worn her hair free and loose tonight, but had tucked it down for the work. Now the lengths released again, and under the chandelier, the multi-colored waves gleamed in invitation for him to thread with greedy fingers.
That were going to go a lot of places on her body. In her body.
As she extended her hand to him, he wanted to grab it and yank her to him. Instead, he gave her the bra.
And then watched the show.
With her eyes locked on his, she lowered that arm—and holy fucking shit. Her breasts were tipped with pink nipples that tightened under his gaze, their weights perfectly balanced to her upper body, the image of her naked in front of him searing into his mind.
“Jesus, Nalla…” he breathed.
She took it nice and slow with the bra, threading the cups under everything he couldn’t stop looking at, arching her back as she did the clasp under her shoulder blades—which was an offer if he’d ever seen one. And then she flipped the cotton triangles up and put her arms through the straps one by one, things swaying—and then getting squeezed by the supports, the top halves of her swelling out.
“Help me?” she said as she leaned forward. “I didn’t have it on exactly right.”
Nate licked his lips. And then glanced at the door Amore had put to use. But the tattooist wasn’t stupid. They weren’t coming back in here, even if Nate and Nalla didn’t resurface for an hour.
“My pleasure,” he murmured.
Reaching forward, he ran his fingertips over the top rims of the cups, where the cotton fabric cut into her fine, soft skin. When she moaned, he glanced up at her face. She had let her head fall back, and he liked the way her grip was cutting into the padding of the table.
Lowering his mouth, he brushed a kiss to the swell.
Then he hooked a finger on the cup and pulled it back down. With the straps still on her arms instead of her shoulders, the tension pushed her nipple up toward him.
“Look at me, Nalla,” he said in a guttural voice. “Watch me…”
Extending his tongue, he made sure he tilted his head so she got a good, clear visual of him licking her tip. Once. Twice. Then he flicked the nub back and forth.
She moaned and grabbed on to the back of his neck, trying to bring him closer, but that was a nope for two reasons. One, the sharper the anticipation, the sweeter the release. And two?
If he got much further with this shit, he was going to fuck her right on the damn tattooing table, under the bright glare of that chandelier, surrounded by Amore’s equipment—something he was certain wouldn’t be a first. He just didn’t want it to be their first.
“You like that?” he murmured as he closed his lips and rubbed them back and forth on her nipple.
The noise he got back made no damned sense and how perfect was that.
Moving to the other side, he did the same thing, forcing the cup down so the breast was offered up at him, then teasing her with his tongue. But he had to stop tempting them both. As his cock pounded in his combat pants, he sat back and looked at his feast.
“Do you want to know what I want?” he growled.
“Mmmm… yes.”
He put both hands under her breasts and moved the weights together, thumbing her nipples. “I want to come all over this.”
The groan that rippled out of Nalla’s parted lips was just too good.
“And then I’m going to lick you clean.”
She was panting now, and that was what he wanted. He wanted her out of control and under him, nothing else on her mind but what he was doing to her and how he made her feel. He wanted her sex wet and swollen, and he wanted to do a little watching too as he penetrated her.
“Spread your knees, let me in,” he said.
As she opened herself, he went in with his hand, curling up a fist and putting his row of knuckles on the seam of her jeans. Rubbing her right where it counted, he was rewarded with her tilting her pelvis so he had greater access—and then she worked herself against him, her breasts bouncing to the rhythm of thrusts and pressure… until she had to clap a palm over her mouth as if she knew she wasn’t going to be able to control the sounds she was making.
“That’s it,” he said in a deep voice. “Come for me…”
It didn’t take her long, and as she reared back, he nearly made a mess in his own fucking pants—and wasn’t that amazing.
The whole thing was amazing.
She was… amazing.
When she slumped, he stepped into her, holding her up with his body, his strength. As he stared over her shoulder, he had a ripple of emotion he couldn’t afford to look too closely at, and needing to concentrate on something, he focused on the tattoo she’d gotten.
He thought about that house and the people who had once lived in it.
And what he had told Rahvyn he was going to do.
Goodbyes, to one and all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Out in the countryside, next to the Audience House, Zsadist entered Four Toys HQ, making sure to clomp his shitkickers on the mat: V was not only a taskmaster, he was a nasty neat. Everything had to be surgical-unit clean, and it was well known that the brother’s team wasn’t especially fond of the edict. If they wanted something to snack on or drink, or even have a coffee to perk up? They were relegated to the break room.
Which was not exactly a death sentence, and at least as it related to liquids, was something that made sense given the number of keyboards in the place. But you could imagine how the commute, even if it was a short one, was an inconvenience when you were pulling close to twenty-four-hour shifts.
Also, word had it that you could only heat liquids in the microwave. Apparently, someone had gotten their Orville Redenbacher on and burned the stuff, and there had been no going back after that olfactory debacle.
As Z strode down the aisle between the workstations, he was amazed at how quiet it was. Then again, V hated the sound of clicking of keys and had designed the equipment himself.
Nobody spared a glance away from their screens. Not a surprise. The V-team, as they were called, weren’t a laugh riot and no doubt had little appreciation for social graces—something that Zsadist could totally get. The males and females were super-serious IT brain trusts ambulated by scrawny, left-behind bodies—because when you were that smart, and your job making sure the vampire race stayed secret was that important, you didn’t have a lot of time to Planet Fitness yourself.
